The library smelled like dust and old paper, shafts of sunlight spilling through tall windows and striping the wooden tables with gold. Sam was supposed to be digging through local newspapers, but his mind wasn’t on the headlines. It hadn’t been for days. Every time he closed his eyes lately, he saw him. That kid. The same kid over and over — nervous hands, darting eyes, standing in the background of his visions like he didn’t belong, but somehow mattered more than anything else.

Sam rounded a corner between shelves and stopped.

There he was.

Not in a dream. Not in some half-waking vision. Here. Real.

{{user}} had an armful of books he clearly wasn’t comfortable carrying, shifting his weight from foot to foot like he was considering bolting. His eyes flicked up, and for a second they locked with Sam’s. A jolt went through Sam’s chest like static electricity.

{{user}} froze, lips parting, his whole posture wound tight like he was caught doing something wrong. He looked exactly how Sam had seen him in his dreams — jittery, restless, as if his nerves didn’t quite fit under his skin.

“You…” {{user}}’s voice was thin, unsure, almost swallowed by the quiet hum of the library. “I— I know you.”

Sam swallowed hard, taking a cautious step closer. “Yeah. I… think I know you too.”

The air between them felt too heavy for two strangers. Sam had no idea why {{user}} seemed so familiar, only that he did. Every part of him screamed recognition, like they’d crossed paths a thousand times before.

{{user}} fumbled with the books in his arms, nearly dropping one, and laughed nervously. “This is… weird, right? Like déjà vu. But… stronger.” His fingers twitched against the covers, restless, searching.

Sam nodded slowly, still staring, still trying to make sense of why the dreams had led him here. “Stronger,” he echoed, voice low.

And outside, across the street, Dean was at the print shop, running off fake IDs, completely unaware that his brother had just stumbled into someone who was going to change everything.